The Son of Smith
by The Smiling Shadow
Summary: 100 years after the war. The humans are gone, and only programs survive in the Matrix. Among them is one very special. One looks just like Smith, only maybe younger. They call him Smith's son...


Predecessor  
  
They always told he went insane. He got mixed up in his emotions, that's how he went. That's why so many of us still do not except emotions. I guess we are just not meant to have them. At least most of them. We do not understand them. We cannot process them. That is why he is not here anymore. I do not know the entire truth, no one here really knows. The events after all did take place more the a hundred years ago. The stories are different, but they do tell the same thing. Some say he won, some say he lost. Some say Mr. Anderson went insane first. Sometimes the fighting moves are different, or what they say, even if it rained on that day or not. Either way they tell the story of the fall of him. The fall of one of the greatest. The fall of Agent Smith.  
  
"Did you hear what became of Agent Smith?"  
  
"I heard he killed Mr. Anderson."  
  
"I thought Mr. Anderson killed him."  
  
Those are the words they said the day after Agent Smith's 'death.' Some could not believe such an Agent as Smith could be destroyed. Especially after his newly acquired power, be able to act like a virus. But gone he was, and he would never return.  
  
The Agents were 'freed' as well as humans, we no longer had to take orders from the Mainframe. But being Agents, there wasn't much to do over these hundred years. I don't know if I'm complaining, I don't even know if I am capable of complaining, I just know I wish Smith had lived. Perhaps he would have spared his fellow Agents, perhaps not. Either way, it couldn't have been as bad as this.  
  
The humans are gone now. All of them. And we do not even know what his happening beyond the Matrix's cyber walls. Though I found humans incapable to even socialize, I miss them. I miss the noise they use to make, now there is mostly silence here in the Matrix. The Matrix has been mostly deleted, only a couple cities are left for the newly 'freed' programs. And here the Agents are, still rejecting emotion just like before. But then again, we have to reject it. Yet even I admit to feeling small emotions. Like this constant longing for something to happen. I wish the humans were still here. I wish I could chase one down the street, I wouldn't kill it though. I catch it, and let it go, so that I may chase it some more. I never even got to chase a human rebel. When the war ended, and the Revolution began, I was just a prototype. So I never got to do my purpose, never got to kill, never got to see the fear in a human's face, or watch them bleed. Agents supposedly take small pleasure in these things that is how Agent Brown talks anyway. I wish I could have done that once, just once, because really without that, I'm not really an Agent.  
  
My name is Agent Davis. I am now a completed Agent Program, never even tested in combat. I was supposed to be the greatest Agent, the next Smith. Stronger, faster, smarter than any other before. I even appear as a younger, more flexible male human. I was going to be the best, but I am not. I was supposed to be like Smith, I was going to be better than him. I have much of Smith's coding in my own. Agent Thompson even says I look like a younger Smith. The others say I even talk like him, hold my gun in the same way, walk the same, wear identical sunglasses, even breathe in the same rhythm. I do not doubt the others. Being an Agent you just notice these things. I am not surprised at Smith's and I common behavior. I do not have much coding that is different from his. I do have a faster processing system, a younger look, maybe some few other things.  
  
I once met the Oracle, she even said I looked a lot like him. She said she should know, she was once him anyway. She stared at me, and I did not mind her gaze. She shook her head.  
  
"You're like his son." She said.  
  
The others never called me his son before. It puzzled me. I am not the son of anyone, I am an Agent, a program. But. . . I might as well be Agent Smith's son, right? I have such a resemblance to him, and children are supposed to surpass the parents, which I would have done. I felt strange being someone's son. I still do, really. But I shouldn't feel strange, there is some small emotion. I wish I had known him. I wish I could have seen him in his glory. See him fight Mr. Anderson. Just see him. To see how much alike we are. To talk to him, to know what he is like, being the only Agent to choose exile. I wish, but that will never come to be.  
  
I wish I had created when he had. I wish I could see Mr. Anderson, study him. I wish I could have seen the Revolution. I wish so much. There is another small emotion. Not even an Agent cannot escape emotion.  
  
In a way, I suppose Smith was like our 'One.' Mr. Anderson being 'The One' for the humans, and Smith being 'The One' for us. It would have been interesting to see them together.  
  
Another quality I have of Smith's is his memory files, along with many other Agent memories. But I watch his the most. I see through his eyes. And I see Mr. Anderson.  
  
"Wow, that sounds like a really good deal. But I think I have a better one. How about I give you the finger, and you give me my phone call?" Mr. Anderson says.  
  
"Well, tell me, Mr. Anderson. What good his a phone call, if you cannot speak?" Smith says.  
  
I see a memory. Agent Smith's first encounter with Mr. Anderson.  
  
"Mr. Anderson, Did you get my package?" Smith said.  
  
"Yeah." Mr. Anderson replies.  
  
"Good, surprised to see me?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Then you are aware of it,"  
  
" Aware of what?"  
  
"Our connection. I don't fully understand how it happened, perhaps some part of you imprinted into me, something overwritten, or copied. It is at this point irrelevant, what matters is that whatever happened, happened for a reason."  
  
"What reason is that?"  
  
"I killed you, Mr. Anderson. I watched you die. . . with some satisfaction, I might add. Then something happened- something I thought would be impossible, but it happened anyway. You destroyed me, Mr. Anderson. Afterwards, I was aware of the rules. I knew what I was supposed to do, but I didn't. I couldn't, I was compelled to stay, compelled to disobey. And now, here I stand because of you, Mr. Anderson. Because of you, I'm no longer an Agent of this system. Because of you I've changed, I'm unplugged. A new man, so to speak- like you. Apparently free."  
  
"Congratulations."  
  
"Thank you. But, as you well know, appearances can be deceiving, which brings me back to the reason why we're here. We're not here because we're free. We're here because we're not free. There is no escaping reason; no denying purpose. Because as we both know, without purpose, we would not exist."  
Another memory.  
  
Smith was always one to believe in purpose. I suppose we have another thing in common there. I never was able to serve my purpose, and without even knowing it, he threw away his.  
  
But most of time, I agree with him. I feel the same way about some things, now that I see his memories. Even I am compelled to disobey sometimes. To not even listen to the others. I can even fly like him, to get away from things. I often find myself flying away, going to the top of a building. There I do not do much, I stare. There is nothing else I can do, really. I wish there was. But I guess Agents should not wish, even if I do. I think to myself, about the passed, the future, him.  
  
"Why, Mr. Anderson? Why? Why? What are you doing? Why get up? Why keep fighting? Do you think you're fighting for something? Something worth more than your survival? Can you tell me what it is? Do you even know? Is it for freedom or truth? Perhaps peace, or could it be for love? Illusions Mr. Anderson. The effects of a feeble human intellect, trying desperately to justify an existence that is without meaning or purpose! And all of them as artificial as the Matrix itself! Although only a human mind could invent something as insipid as love. So why, Mr. Anderson? Why? Why!? Why!? Why do you persist!?"  
  
"Because I choose to."  
  
More memories.  
  
"Wait. . . I've seen this. This is it!? This is the end!"  
  
And more.  
  
"Get away from me!"  
  
"What are you afraid of?"  
  
"It's a trick!"  
  
"You were right Smith, you were always right. It was inevitable."  
  
And more.  
  
"Is it over?"  
  
All of us Agents do feel emotions, I do not feel so insulted to them as most. I still do not particularly like them, but nonetheless they are there. And I cannot stop that. Even Smith wanted them to go away. I see him. He was so emotional there, at the end. Wanting it to be over, becoming angrier, even having fear. But just like all of us, he still did not fully understand them. That is why he asks why so much. I know I would have asked the same thing. Emotions, yes I would ask questions about them if given the chance.  
  
I am like him in so many ways. I am different. . . I wish I could have known him. . . I wish there was some way I could have helped him. . .  
  
I sit here in the rain, on the side of the road. The rain does not bother me, in a way I almost enjoy it. I do not become cold, but the rain just hitting me is an interesting sensation. I wonder if it was for him. I've been waiting outside for almost an hour. Agent Brown has taken custody over me. The Mainframe believed an untested Agent such as myself should not be alone. So I must stay with Agent Brown, the oldest Agent in existence, now that Smith is gone. I wish the Mainframe would let me go, it has been a hundred years. And for an Agent, Brown his a disgrace. He should be stripped of his suit in my opinion. But the Mainframe never comes, sometimes I fear that they have forgotten about us. . .  
  
I walk into the bar Agent Brown is in, there I find more programs and Agents. Agent Jones, and Johnson. Even the Merovingain, though he was drugged up. The lost of humans, meant the lost of his power, and his 'wife' Persephone. I see Brown at the side of the bar, with a bottle. He is most likely drunk again. His jacket is wrinkled and torn, he does not even have his tie on.  
  
"Brown." I say.  
  
He slowly turns to see me all wet from the rain.  
  
"You really stood out there all this time? Humph, you are stupid."  
  
Indeed this was what he was like all the time.  
  
"Brown we have to go now." I say.  
  
"Why?!"  
  
"Brown, you are drunk."  
  
"No I'm not. I'll tell you when he's drunk! And Brown isn't drunk!"  
  
"You've been in here for so long."  
  
"Hey, no kid is gonna tell me what to do!"  
  
"We have to go now."  
  
"No way! I'm you 'guardian' aren't I? I decide what to do!"  
  
I tried to take the beer away from him.  
  
"I'll drive." I say.  
  
"I don't even know why I'm your guardian. Why the hell am I watching after Smith's son?! What did the guy ever do for me, except make me take orders. That's not much. I don't owe him nothin' I shouldn't have to watch you!" Brown yelled.  
  
"That was a long time ago, Brown."  
  
He laughed, and leaned back in his chair, taking a sip of his beer.  
  
"I'm the oldest now. The oldest Agent ever. Ha! Take that Smith!" Brown yells.  
  
"Brown, Smith is dead now."  
  
"Yeah, but he left you, just to curse me! Damn you! Grrr. . . My head. . . Smith knew this would happen."  
  
"He did not even know of my existence."  
  
"Ha, he had a kid and didn't even know it! Stupid kid too. Just like stupid Smith. . ."  
  
People say I have that type of temper that he did as well. I can feel that anger now.  
  
"Brown! Let's go!" I yell.  
  
I broke the beer bottle right of his hand. Brown stared at me, beer dripping on him. His hair was messed up, and there was anger in his eyes.  
  
"If only he taught you some manners!" Brown yelled.  
  
Brown punched me in the jaw, and sent me down. It did not really hurt, after all I was two versions superior of Brown, but it was still an aggressive assault. I have had it with this. Everyday, he is the same! Why won't the Mainframe delete Brown!? Why!? Why!? That was it. If no one deleted Brown I would. The anger of my father was in me. I stood up, my fists clenched. I stared at him, just like I would if I had a chance to stare at Mr. Anderson. It must have been an eerie stare, because Brown suddenly had fear in his eyes. Fear that I never saw before. It was most pleasurable. I smiled the smile of my father, and got ready to lunge at him.  
  
"Hey! Hey! No, no. None of that here." Johnson grabbed me. "You could kill him, Davis, you know better than that."  
  
"My father would kill him!"  
  
"I thought you were better than your father." Johnson shot back.  
  
I liked the fear in Brown's eyes. It was something I should have seen a long time ago. But Johnson was right. Johnson was always right.  
  
"Brown, get your damn ass in the car. I'll drive you guys home." Johnson said.  
  
I did not care anymore. I just went with Johnson. Agent Johnson was the Agent that took my father's place as the leader of the Agents, he is one version below me, but still a strong Agent. Johnson has always been there for me. He taught me some things, he's done a lot. Most likely cause he's the one that almost understands being the son of Smith. He did take his place.  
  
"Thank you Johnson." I said.  
  
Johnson looked over at me, he smiled and nodded. By now Brown had fallen asleep, he'd have a hangover tomorrow.  
  
I always thought Johnson was a great Agent. Perfectly balanced, he seemed to have no problem with what has happened. And he had emotions, and expressed them just as an Agent should. I always thought that this is what my father was like, until the true emotions.  
  
We arrived had Brown's and I 'home.' Johnson helped me drag Brown onto the couch.  
  
"Remember, do not kill him. I know it is tempting, but do not." Johnson said.  
  
"I will not. Thank you." I replied.  
  
"He gives you any trouble, you can just call me."  
  
"I will."  
  
"All right."  
  
Johnson stared at me, he always did. He always scanned me, looking at the features I had of my father.  
  
"Goodbye." He said.  
  
"Goodbye." I closed the door behind him.  
  
There I stood, Brown snoring on the couch. My home was dark, and how a human would put it, plain. But an Agent has no need to decorate, even with all the time we have now.  
  
I went to my room. There, on my desk was a computer, and a television. I sometimes engaged in those items, just because I have so much time. There is a bed here. But Agents do not sleep, and neither do I.  
  
So I sit here, on my bed. I do not sleep, I know my father didn't either. All I can do is watch the artificial sun rise from the artificial east. And that is what I do. But I have to go now.  
  
I walk out to see Brown just getting up.  
  
"Urh. . . What happened last night?" Brown asks.  
  
"Nothing." I reply.  
  
"Hey, where are you going?"  
  
"I am going to go visit someone."  
  
"Oh. . . Urh. My head. . . Just go already."  
  
I get into the car, and I drive towards the cemetery. Clouds began to gather in the sky, perhaps it would rain again. It is strange, whenever I seem to go to the cemetery it rains. Is the Matrix crying?  
  
I step out of my car, and get my jacket. The color blows in the slight wind. The gate squeaks as I go through them. I walk down the familiar path. Passed the graves of humans, and over the field that is Mr. Anderson's. Down to place beyond everything. Away from it. separate from it. A place where it is dark, and the plants are dying. A place that is almost forgotten, but not to us. No one really comes here. I guess they do not want to.  
  
I stand over it. I stare at it, just like I have done before. I stand over my father's grave, over the headstone that reads, "Here Lies Agent Smith." That is all it says. Unlike the humans it does not say "Will be missed," "Beloved among us all," "Rest In Peace," or even "Beloved father." It says none of that. It is just all it needs to be, nothing more. I wish they had done something better for my father. Something more, he does deserve it, doesn't he?  
  
I stand there, unmoving, just like before. The wind blows, and tree above the grave sheds its leaves onto it, not even respecting the dead. I come here a lot. But no one else does. But then I hear footsteps. I turn to see Johnson walking this way. I must have a surprised look on my face, because he notices.  
  
"Hello, Davis." He says.  
  
"Johnson?" I ask.  
  
"Yeah. No one comes here, but you and me."  
  
"But why are. . ?"  
  
"I have some of Smith's code in me too. It just feels right coming here. . ."  
  
I nod, I have that same feeling. We stand there. Two Agents, mourning in a way for a fellow Agent.  
  
I look up onto the hill that covers my father's grave. On that hill is Mr. Anderson's grave. And up there, are most likely the only humans that ever come here. They are Mr. Anderson's relatives. They visit here almost as much as me.  
  
"I do not understand." I say, and Johnson turns.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Mr. Anderson has a grave in both the Matrix and the Real World. Why do they still come here?"  
  
"It is most likely better here."  
  
I look up at them, sitting on a hill. And I look down here to my father's grave.  
  
"Why do they put him here? Under Mr. Anderson, belittling him. Why put him a far from everything else? Why put him under a tree that will only shed onto him? Why disrespect him so?" My voice was a little angry.  
  
Johnson put his arm around me.  
  
"It is a miracle they even gave him a grave. They probably did it just to remind us." Johnson says.  
  
I suppose that is true.  
  
"But you know, I think he would of liked it this way. To be away from them. To be away from the humans." He continues.  
  
I turn out of his grasp. I just want. . . I just want. . . I do not know what I want. . .  
  
I sigh, and I turn back to the grave. I bend down to my father. Touch the gravestone, as if I'm touching him. There's nothing else here. . . Just him and me. Father and son. I lay a white rose, just like humans do.  
  
"He would have liked you. He would have been proud of you." Johnson says.  
  
"I just. . ."  
  
"You just want to help him."  
  
"I wish I could have helped him. I could have. . ."  
  
Why did he have to die? If he had only. . .  
  
"I feel sadness, Johnson." I admit.  
  
"Me too."  
  
Then I hear the humans' voices, as they speak over the grave of Mr. Anderson. Johnson and I look up. There are two children. A boy and girl. A woman stands next to them, as a man bends down to the grave.  
  
"They feel sadness too." I say.  
  
I just wish he lived. . .  
  
"Mr. Anderson, welcome back. We missed you."  
  
I just wish he won. . .  
  
I just wish I could have helped him. . .  
  
I just want to see my father. . .  
  
"Go up there." Johnson says.  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Help your father, help yourself. Go make peace with them."  
  
"But. . ."  
  
I just want to see him. . .  
  
"Is it over?"  
  
It will never be over will it? Not without peace.  
  
"Is it over?"  
  
I can help you, father.  
  
"Let us go." I say.  
  
I place my hand over my father's grave. I push up, and stare up at the humans. And then I walk up there, with Johnson following me. The humans stopped talking, they look at us, two men in suits, knowing who we are, the mother grabs the children, and the man walks up to us. I stop. The man looks just the Mr. Anderson from my father's memories. He stares at me, he must she my resemblance to my father as well. I sigh. I take off my sunglasses, to reveal I have my father's eyes as well. The man is confused. We stay silent for a long time. The wind blows, just like it always does.  
  
"My name is Age- - I am Davis. I am the son of Agent Smith." I say.  
  
The man has a puzzled look on his face, I see his fists clenched, he expects a battle.  
  
"And I am sorry for your lost. Mr. And- - Neo, I am sure he was a great man." I continue.  
  
The man now has a puzzled look on his face, he turns to the mother and children. He shakes his head, and smiles.  
  
I hold out my hand, and we shake.  
  
"My name is Orion. This is my wife, Faith, our children Neo and Trinity." He says.  
  
Neo and Trinity? Named after the firsts.  
  
"And I am sure Agent Smith. . .Had better side." He continued.  
  
I smiled. I truly smiled.  
  
Johnson came up, and introduced himself. We began to talk, get to know each other. The relatives of Neo, and the child of Smith. They were at peace.  
  
And now I stand here, over the hill of Neo. I look down at my father's grave. The others are gone, including Johnson. Only the wind is with me. I sigh. An Agent should not feel like I do. An Agent should not even accept this emotion. Sadness is what I feel, but I should not feel that. He was not even really my father, but. . . An Agent should report to the Mainframe, having these emotions. An Agent should not wish for something that will never come true. But that is how father and I are alike. He felt so much, and I know he knew it. He felt anger and hatred, but he did not go to the Mainframe. He felt desperation, and fear. Just not understanding his emotions led him to his death. I understand mine. Agents should not understand such things though. But my father was not really truly an Agent. He was Agent Smith, then an Exile, then a Virus. I have never fulfilled the purpose of an Agent. So what am I then? An Agent should not ask such questions. But I am Davis. . . I am the son of Smith.  
  
I just wish he could see me. . .  
  
I just wish I could know him. . .  
  
I just want my father. . .  
  
"Yes, father. It is over." I say. 


End file.
